


Care

by Mercia



Series: Femslash February 2019 [21]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Established Relationship, F/F, Femslash February, Fluff, Sickfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 02:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17889965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercia/pseuds/Mercia
Summary: “Oh,” Peggy replies, a little stunned. “You're sick.”





	Care

When Peggy comes back home from another long day, the house is silent. Which is strange. 

Because usually, Peggy comes home to the sound of singing Broadway tunes, or Angie reciting sonnets and lines for auditions,  or hot oil sizzling in a pan for cooking, or, at the very least, the radio on. But instead the house is still, and cold, and utterly too quiet. It's just enough to put Peggy instantly on edge. 

Everything looks in place, there's no mess or anything glaringly suspicious she's noticing (barring the silence.) Peggy would almost just assume Angie's gone out, except her house keys are still in their little key dish by the entrance, and her coat and boots are still left in the foyer. 

“Darling?” Peggy calls, treading down the corridors slowly, alert. “Are you home? Angie?”

The feeling of dread creeps further up her spine, and Peggy holds her breath, listening for anything.

Oh, this is all her fault. She should have been more careful — it was foolishness,  _ stupidity _ , putting Angie in harm’s way by moving in with her. How could she ever think for a second she could keep contacts with a  _ civilian _ , let alone share a bed with one. And Angie is so sweet and kind and utterly unequipped to be dealing with Peggy s kind of trouble, and now she might be — 

From two doors away, the door to their bedroom, a gross, wet noise sounds, and Peggy freezes. 

She’s at the door in an instant, practically kicking it down.

From under the covers, Angie lets loose a loud sneeze and blows her nose.

“Hi Pegs,” she says, looking up. Her voice is all nasally and throaty and quiet. She lets out a little sniffle. Her eyes drift down to the handgun held tightly in Peggy’s grip. “What’ve you got there?” 

“Oh,” Peggy replies, a little stunned. “You're  _ sick _ .”

And she really is. Her skin is both pale and flushed, her skin is clammy, the little curls of hair around her face sticking, her eyes are much too watery, and she's definitely shivering. She lets out another shocking sneeze.

“Nah, I'm fine.” she says. 

Peggy rolls her eyes, storing her handgun away again properly, before approaching the bed. Angie is bundled up in a sort of mountain-cocoon of sheets, with her head peeping out at the top.

“It's freezing in here, no wonder you're ill,” says Peggy, turning on the electric heating Howard set up a few months back before climbing into bed as well.

“Stop it,” Angie protests batting her away with her hands weakly, but she leans into Peggy's warmth anyway. “I'll make you sick too.”

Peggy hums and curls her arms around her and kisses the top of her head.  “Oh, so you admit it, huh?”

“Shut up, English.”

Angie is small in her arms, head resting, now, in Peggy's lap, eyes closed, breathing heavily through her mouth, fitting perfectly. Even just sitting here like this, back against the headboard, is just so comfortable, and Peggy allows herself to stroke a hand down Angie's soft honey curls. 

They’ve been living together for almost a year now, and sleeping together for almost half. What used to be Howard's mansion is now their home. Soft, worn in, cotton duvets, curtains in Angie's favourite shade of rosy pink, cushions embroidered by Peggy's mother, and a crocheted blanket from Angie's Nana draped over the both of them on the bed in soft grey. 

And Peggy… Peggy never thought she would be able to have this sort of thing, especially after Steve and the war and the SSR position, even if they have to keep it a secret. 

It's still nice to go on picnics, or dinner dates happily and eagerly supplied to them by Jarvis’ services, even though they both insist it is unnecessary. 

She is truly happy now, and she has someone to share it with. 

Not to mention, Angie deals with Peggy’s particular brand of vocational trauma brilliantly. Peggy is almost in awe, it's amazing. 

“Thanks for taking care of me Pegs,” says Angie softly after a while, voice a little croaky. “Man, what did I do to deserve you?”

Peggy lets out a small laugh, and smiles down fondly at her. “Oh, sweetheart. I think it's the other way around, I'm afraid.” She replies, and bends to drop another kiss on Angie's head. “Now, tell me where your mother's soup recipe is so I can take care of you even better.”

_ Like you always take care of me, _ she thinks.


End file.
